It
by SyberiaWinx
Summary: Dahlia could never be what he wanted.


**It**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the rights to Professor Layton. If I did, Descole would have his own spin-off.

**Author's Note:** I like doing little oneshots focusing on characters others tend to dislike or not pay much attention to, in hopes to inspire them to view said characters in a way they never have before. This idea came to me years ago, after realizing just how cruel the Baron's journal really was. Please remember to review!

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><p><em>The craftsmanship of it is simply remarkable. It reminds me of my sweet Violet when she was alive.<em>

It was an automaton-a robot created to look like his deceased wife. He couldn't believe not only how much it looked like her, but acted and smiled like her. It was like his Violet had come back to him. With this thing, he could have his wife back, and his precious little Flora could have her mother back. They could be a family again.

But as the days went by, he only felt more and more unhappy. That thing had all of his late wife's memories, and as a result, it loved him like a husband and Flora like a daughter. It was gentle like his Violet, made Flora laugh like his Violet, and smiled like his Violet. But it _wasn't_ his Violet. It wasn't, and it never could be.

Eventually, the time came when he couldn't stand to be around it. He would lock himself away in his study, burying himself in the memories of the real Violet. This only deepened his sorrow, and his pain got so great, that even the mere sight of that thing who looked and acted so much like his beloved made him feel ill. He hated the idea of hurting Flora and making her lose her mother again, but he couldn't take it anymore.

That doll was not her mother, and it was not his wife either. Not really. And he could no longer let it act that way.

_Flora doesn't like the thing at all. I've seen her run away from it on multiple occasions. _

Before, Flora had been so happy with it. She had never questioned how her mother had suddenly returned, still too innocent to understand such things were not normal. The two of them had spent nearly every moment together, and he had joined them until he could no longer bear to do so.

Now, thanks to what he had done, Flora no longer saw her mother in that doll. She would hide behind the servants or run away every time it came anywhere near her, terrified. Her father hated hurting her that way, yet felt oddly relieved at the same time.

But that thing did not understand. Even with the changes that had been made, it still tried to get close to Flora. But she would never accept it as her mother again. Instead, he had made sure she cherished the mother she had lost. It had been an insult to Violet's memory to create that abomination in the first place.

_Recently, she spends more time playing by dear Violet's grave than anywhere else._

That thing has finally stopped trying to approach Flora. Now it just watches her, with a strange expression on its face. Had it still been like before, he would have thought it was sorrow…or maybe confusion. But there was no way that could be the case now.

_I'm sad to say I doubt Flora will ever take to it. I can't blame her, as I've changed its memory._

He had had the doll altered-both in memory and appearance. It still resembled his Violet, but with makeup and a drastically different wardrobe and hairstyle, there was enough of a difference that he could bear being around it again. Flora still avoided it, though, which he understood.

Their personalities were now completely different. While the thing still viewed him as her husband, she no longer had any memories of Flora as her daughter. All those times they had spent together, playing and laughing, had been wiped away. He did not want it to care for Flora in the way that only her mother should. He did not want it to remember memories it never should have been able to experience in the first place. He'd have gotten rid of it altogether if he had not been afraid of traumatizing Flora.

_I feel terrible forcing that change on Flora, but I couldn't bear to see it like that anymore._

That thing still watches Flora, even though it no longer approaches her or tries to talk to her. It remains hidden from view during these moments, apparently so as not to upset the child.

Sometimes, the doll sneaks off to visit Violet's grave, which the servants keep from their master. It would just stand there, staring at the statue of the Baron's first wife, who had such a similar face. After a while, it started avoiding that area, even when Flora would play there. The servants would wonder if it was unnerved by the resemblance, unaware that their new mistress was actually an automaton that had been built as a replacement for their old one.

It would start spending all its time alone, staring out the window. Sometimes it would be watching Flora play with that same strange expression as always, while other times it would just stare at the sky. It rarely spoke,

_Violet…there can never be another you. You were my first, my last, and my only._

The Baron eventually fell ill and died, leaving behind little Flora and Dahlia-the automaton people knew as his second wife, who looked strikingly like his first. The day after his death, Dahlia would sit in his study, holding his journal in her hands.

She would never open it.

She would never read it.

She didn't need to.

The Baron was a perceptive man. He had quickly realized that no one could ever replace his Violet. No other woman-human or doll-could replace his wife and Flora's mother. He had realized that creating an automaton that looked and acted like her was a mistake, and in an attempt to rectify that mistake, had ripped those memories away.

But the absence of memories did not equal the absence of feelings. Dahlia loved her husband, even though he avoided her and only ever looked at her with disgust or sorrow. She loved Flora, even as the girl who was not her daughter recoiled from her touch and ran away in terror. Her stomach had twisted into knots when she had first seen that statue of the Baron's late wife-seen how much the woman looked like her. That alone had been enough to tell her that her relationship with him had never been around love. She'd been hurt and confused by rejection she would never be able to understand. She would sit alone and stare out the window, questioning her purpose. Sometimes she would watch the Baron or Flora, letting the tears fall freely down her face-tears no one would ever see. Eventually, she there had come a time when she couldn't even cry anymore.

But now, a single tear made its way down her face, landing silently on the unopened book in her hands. Even without reading it, she could imagine the hate and sorrow that resided on those pages. The "why" didn't really matter to her. She would rather not know.

Dahlia reclined lay back in her chair, clutching the Baron's journal to her chest. There was still a wet trail on her cheek from the tear she had shed, but she did not bother to wipe it away.

The Baron had never wanted _her_-never loved _her_. He had been her reason for living, but he had abandoned her and rejected her and taken everything from her, until she had felt like nothing more than a robot. During those lonely, miserable moments, it was only her tears that reminded her she was still human.

A clockwork heart still beats…and can still break.

Over a man who never realized _it_ had a heart in the first place.


End file.
